Before An Egg
by Seregwen Morthil
Summary: Prequel to poker with the herbalist. Some slight language... contains rampant nonsequitors. read at your own risk...


**Wait, what?**

Summary: Eragon is wandering about in the Spine wearing a pair of khakis when he meets some very strange people. And eventually a deer. Which he thinks is stupid. Poor Eragon.

Disclaimer and Author's Note: I am not CP, do not know CP, have never met CP, and have no rights to anything Alagaesian. (Or anything Algerian, as my computer keeps trying to correct Alagaesian to.) I'm calling him Chris here because Christopher Paolini is too long to put for each little blurb and CP doesn't look like a real name. And I do not believe (never have, not for one second) that he wrote Eragon from a manual. Neither am I J. K. Rowling or possessor of rights to anything Harry Potter-related. Same goes for DreamWorks and everything they ever did. I'm not making fun of small people; I just desperately needed filler. Actually, this whole fic is filler, because it is plotless, pointless, and not very funny. Oh well. Such is Life.

Authoress' Note II: Hello, my dear readers, (if there are any) I am back! After a terrible time in which my mother forbade me to write, publish, review, read, or do anything with I have been freed. I now repost this for your eyes. I was so happy when so many people reviewed; it killed me to delete it. Anyway, here's my baby ficcy...

**Wait, What?**

Eragon: Well, here I am, wandering about in an extremely mysterious and dangerous mountain range, (out of which, by the way, I always emerge perfectly unharmed,) looking for a deer so I can shoot it with a bow and arrow, kill it, and take it home to my family. Oh, joy. I am going to _kill _the writer. Why couldn't he have a handy McDonald's, I'd like to know? Oh no, that wouldn't be _authentic_, now, would it? He made this whole place up completely out of his own imagination, I mean, is that so much to ask? Just one McDonald's… Honestly.

_Enter Christopher Paolini_

Chris: Hi, Eragon!

Eragon: Who the blip are you?

Chris: I'm Christopher Paolini, I'm the writer!

Eragon: Oh, _you're _the sadistic bugger who stuck me here without any McDonald's, or any toilets, with a grumpy uncle and a hormonal cousin, carrying a bow and wearing a pair of khak-

Chris: Don't say it! You're never supposed to say what the main character is wearing! It's in the manual, you know.

Eragon: What manual?

Chris: "The Complete Guide to Writing a Strangely-Titled Fantasy Novel (Where Everyone Has Only One Name and There Is a Hero With Mysterious Antecedents) in Only Three Months No Refunds Please." That manual. It was a mail-order offer; I thought it looked fun. Aren't you enjoying yourself?

Eragon: No! I had to go to the bathroom in an outhouse, for Pete's sake! I want a hamburger that has the nutritional value of three pounds of solid pork lard! I want to wear out the skin of my thumbs playing violent video games! I want to pretend that I can skateboard! I want to wear a pink shirt, even though it makes me look like a poof! I miss suburbia! Wah-ha-haaaaaah!

Chris: You are pathetic.

Eragon: I can't help it; I'm the hero. Heroes are always soppy or moody or depressed or troubled or in need of psychological counseling.

Chris: You're right, you know. Heroes are never normal, you know what I mean? They're always internally conflicted. I guess that's what makes a hero.

Eragon: What, having stomach problems?

Chris: I don't know. I've totally lost the thread of the conversation. What were we talking about?

Eragon: Um… horses?

Chris: Okay, let's talk about horses.

Eragon: I don't know anything about horses.

Chris: Neither do I. Well, I do know you should never look a gift horse in the mouth.

Eragon: Why shouldn't you?

Chris: I don't know. Maybe it's bad luck or something?

Eragon: Well, if the horse has bad breath, I guess it could be bad luck.

Chris: Or maybe a gift horse is slang for something.

Eragon: Like what? A bouncer?

Chris: No, that doesn't make sense.

Eragon: Yeah, actually it does.

Chris: No it doesn't.

_Enter Harry Potter_

Harry: He's right, you know.

Chris: Who is?

Harry: Both of you mates. Or bloody blokes. Take your pick; I've got more.

Eragon: Wait… Is that an English accent?

Harry: The dickens it is, chum. Blimey… There's something about you that says "hero" in bigflashingneon letters. You haven't got a scar, have you? Only… Cocknall Frognasters! You're wearing khak-

Chris and Eragon, simultaneously: Don't say it! What ever you do, DON'T SAY IT!

Harry: Well, you don't have to be so loud! Mignal Knurble tails, was that four exclamation points?

Eragon: Um, well…

Chris: Why, what's wrong with that? It's five that means you're crazy, not four.

Harry: Oh. All right, then…

Eragon: Anyway, who are you?

Harry: Why do you care?

Chris: Your bangs are rather on the long side, don't you think?

Eragon: You want to watch out for that. Long bangs block your vision. If you're not careful, you could trip over small people.

_Enter Small Person_

Small Person: Thank you, Eragon! You've just made the world a safer place for the vertically challenged! Would you like this complementary "I Love Small People" mug with a bright yellow smiley face on it?

Eragon: Um… Yeah, thanks, I'll just… um… put it on the ground then, shall I?

_Exit Small Person_

Chris: Well, that was interesting.

Eragon: Yeah, I guess so. Well, dark-haired spectacled English-sounding mystery person, maybe this will inspire you to get a haircut. You could get a mug, you know.

Chris: With a smiley face.

Eragon: A _yellow_ smiley face, now that's not something you run into every day.

Chris: You do if you shop at Wal-Mart.

Eragon: We don't have any Wal-Marts in Alagaesia, either.

Chris: Supposedly, Gretchen Wilson shops at Wal-Mart.

Harry: Yeah right, I'll bet she does after Red-neck Woman was such a hit.

Eragon: Hey, how did you know about that?

Chris: Yeah, you're English, right?

Harry: So? Just because I'm English doesn't mean I don't know about anything that happens in America, right?

_A long reflective pause…_

Narrator: Well, don't look at me! I'm American, I don't know anything about English people and if they know about Gretchen Wilson or Wal-Mart or whatever.

Chris: Okay, well… Why don't you get a haircut?

Harry: Because my bangs hide that which I cannot show you.

Eragon: And what can you not show us?

Harry, sighing theatrically: Well, I guess I could show you… (lifts up his bangs) … this!

Chris: Acne? Well, it's not really _that_ bad; I mean, we all have acne at some point in our lives, right?

Harry: No! My scar! See? It's a scar in the shape of a lightning bolt! Ring a bell?

_Another long reflective pause…_

Chris: No.

Eragon: So, who are you?

Harry: Hel-loooo! I'm f--king Harry Potter, you f--king idiots!

Eragon: Hey, there's no need to get personal!

Harry: Nobody knows who I am anymore, do you, you mother-f--king bards! Nobody cares about me anymore! I'm Harry Potter, b--ch!

_Enter J. K. Rowling_

J. K. Rowling, covering Harry's mouth with her hand: Hush up, you! You're going to get yourself into trouble! _(To Chris and Eragon) _I'm awfully sorry about that; he's been so very moody lately. It might be just hormones, but you never know, do you?

Chris: Um…

J. K. Rowling: He's just been using the most foul language, and yelling his little head off-

_Harry kicks out violently at "little head," catching Chris in the shin._

Chris: OW! That HURT, you miserable English book character!

Harry: Mmrf mrmm mfft!

Eragon: What?

Harry, removing J. K. Rowling's hand from his mouth: I _said_, serves you right!

Chris: That's really what you said?

Harry: That's really what I said.

Chris: Really?

_Enter Shrek_

Shrek: Really really.

Eragon: Aaah! What are _you_ doing here?

_Enter Buzz Light-year_

Buzz: To infinity… and beyond!

Eragon: And you! What the heck are you doing here? At least Shrek made some sense, but you… Entirely out of context!

Buzz: I know; I've always hated that line myself. But when I heard that Nicole Kidman was in this fic, I couldn't stay away.

Shrek: Um, Nicole Kidman is not in this fic.

Buzz: Blast! I must've got the coordinates confused.

Eragon: Okay, that does it! EVERYBODY SHUT UP AND LISTEN TO ME!

_Everybody accordingly shuts up and listens to Eragon, because, all things taken into consideration, this is still his fic._

Eragon: Now, I have something important to do… I think… So if you will all just _leave_, I can get on with the book. Okay? Good. Now scram!

_Exit everyone except Eragon_

Eragon: Oh look, a deer. I think I'll go kill it. This is _so _stupid. So, so, so _stupid_ !

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